


the day which came too soon

by blacksandunderstars



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Sad, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 21:54:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12374886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacksandunderstars/pseuds/blacksandunderstars
Summary: . . . in which Ackbar is a sad fish, attending a funeral far from home . . .





	the day which came too soon

“It was easy to underestimate her,” said Ackbar, in his rumbling drawl. “You just didn’t expect a girl that age to have anything meaningful to say, never mind contribute.”

His large round eyes swiveled away, went unfocused, staring out of the glass dome at the grassy plains which stretched out to the horizon in all directions. This wasn’t his kind of world—not enough humidity. But there was something pleasing in the way the tall grasses undulated in the wind. It reminded him of seaweed back home, so long as he didn’t look too carefully.

“She surprised us all, again and again,” he continued, shifting awkwardly in his seat. “I don’t know whether she was canny or lucky. She certainly never had the time to accrue the sort of experience the rest of us had.”

He paused, then leaned forward.

“I’ve been fighting since the Clone Wars—since before, really. In that time, I’ve met countless generals and admirals with so many campaign ribbons on their uniforms they could hardly stand upright. That’s what we expected when we thought of a leader. And here was this tiny human child who knew nothing, had seen nothing. Easy to ignore . . . good thing for us all she didn’t let us, no matter how much we tried. She kept showing up where she was needed, kept taking action with her unmistakable confidence. We had to follow. We couldn’t help it. She dragged us along by sheer force of will.”

This time when he went quiet it lasted for a long while. The suit which kept his skin from drying out also prevented him from hanging his head or letting his shoulders sag, but he still managed to appear to wilt a little in his chair. It was a performance, an affectation, something he’d learned from spending so much time with humans. They couldn’t read the subtle motions of his eyes and whiskers which, for his people, meant sadness or grief, and he didn’t want them to believe that he felt nothing, that he was somehow above these feelings.

He was uncomfortably aware of the duplicity of the moment. Aliens in the audience would see him as a stoic figure, while his own people would see him struggling to keep composed. And he found himself imagining what her reaction might have been if she were here to see this display. Not amused, certainly. She’d always understood, better than any of them, the burden of being watched.

And then he thought of the advice she might have given him, had she truly been by his side again and seen his discomfort: Let them think what they’re going to think. There’s nothing you can do about it, so focus on what you came here to do.

It wasn’t anything like what she might have actually said, of course. He didn’t have half her wit. But the sentiment seemed right enough.

“This day came too soon,” he said, finally. “I had hoped I wouldn’t live long enough to ever have to see it. Curse of the old soldier, I suppose . . . to survive, when these wars take so many of our friends. But we will continue on in her stead. There will never be another like her, and I will miss her counsel and her leadership; but she would have persevered, and so must we all.”

He got up, in the form of an ungainly slide out of a chair which hadn’t been build for his species, and stood as tall as he could manage out of water. Then he nodded to the crowd, bending more at the waist than at the neck, and ambled off the podium as quickly as his creaking legs would allow. 

This was no place for an aquatic species, and more importantly it was no place for someone who saw the universe like he did. She had been the one who believed in people, not him. She had been the diplomat. She would’ve known what to say, would’ve had better words, inspiring words.

It all felt wrong. This wasn’t how the universe was supposed to work. Soldiers, beings like him, the grunts, they ended up in coffins—not the heroes. Yet here he was, with the wrong one of them giving a farewell speech.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at the urn as he passed, hadn’t ever actually looked at it. Probably it was draped in Alderaanian blue with her family crest somewhere in bright gold, but if there was any justice in the universe at all there would be a red starbird over it all.

One of his aides, some energetic young blond woman who was always scowling about something, was waiting for him at the bottom of the steps, and she snatched up his arm as soon as he was off camera. He’d never been very good at telling humans apart—the tiny eyes and lack of whiskers made it difficult. He only remembered her clearly because she always looked so displeased, and she was giving him that look now, like she didn’t approve.

“Did I ramble too much?” he said, as she gently steered him towards the airlock where his shuttle was waiting to carry him to whatever meeting was next on his schedule. The engines were already running.

“Speech was great, sir.”

“What then? I see your face, Lieutenant. I’m not old enough to be going blind, not yet.”

She stopped in front of the airlock and turned to face him, her face carefully blank. “Sir?”

He observed her for a moment, blinking his huge eyes only once. To her credit, she didn’t squirm or flinch. But she couldn’t quite meet his gaze either.

Whatever his shortcomings in understanding the finer points of human behavior, he understood this well enough. Some variant of this social performance was used by junior officers everywhere when they very much want to say something they know they shouldn’t and don’t quite have the self control to hide their desire completely.

“Out with it,” he growled.

Now she did squirm. “Sir, I’m no expert, and I apologize if this is . . . forward of me, only I know you haven’t been back home or on one of your own ships for a while. At least, not since . . . since she died, sir. And, well, as I said, I’m no expert, but . . .”

Her voice trailed off. She still had her perpetual scowl, but, unless he was truly getting old and starting to hallucinate, her face was also turning a shade of red. And then she quickly stepped forward, put her arms over his shoulders, pulled his head down a little, and gently pressed her forehead against the the broad dome of his head.

It wasn’t quite right, which wasn’t her fault. Human noses get in the way, and they don’t have the whiskers or the right skin. But it was otherwise a credible recreation of a Mon Calamari gesture whose closest approximation amongst humans would be a hug.

For a few precious seconds he imagined being back in the warm embrace of the waters of his home world. And he realized she was right; he hadn’t been back home in far too long. His memories of the great mother ocean had faded so much he’d almost forgotten what the water felt like on his skin.

Then she let the embrace continue a little longer than most of his kind would have considered appropriate in the circumstances—also an understandable mistake—before finally withdrawing. Still red faced, she straightened her uniform and cleared her throat.

Ackbar felt he should say something, but thanking her seemed both appropriate and entirely insufficient for the magnitude of the gesture. In the time since they’d gotten the news, he’d spent hours comforting and giving speeches and reassuring people. Somehow nobody had thought to comfort him except for this one human woman.

He settled for giving her a small nod—the best he could manage within the suit—and gestured to the airlock. “Shall we go, Lieutenant?”

“Sir,” she said, relief evident in her voice, and saluted.

Then she took his arm and together they walked into the belly of the waiting shuttle.

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously nobody outside of Lucasfilm knows how they're going to handle Carrie Fisher's death in Star Wars, so I really don't know if this will in any way fit the eventual canon. But I was watching the stream of Mark Hamill's tribute at the Star Wars Celebration and this idea of Ackbar struggling to express his emotions popped into my head while I, too, was struggling with my emotions. 
> 
> I'm not sure I properly captured the idea, but as the woman herself wrote: "Stay afraid, but do it anyway. What’s important is the action. You don’t have to wait to be confident. Just do it and eventually the confidence will follow."


End file.
